


I Didn't Mean To (Make You Go Through It Alone)

by malixa



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: (Non-graphic) birth, Alpha James Bond, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bonding, Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Fluffy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Male Lactation, Missing in Action, Mpreg, Non-Graphic Violence, Omega Q, Pregnancy, Protective Instincts, Protective James Bond, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 11:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13635666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malixa/pseuds/malixa
Summary: James has gone missing on a crucial mission in Jakarta. Back home in England, Q goes into labour…





	I Didn't Mean To (Make You Go Through It Alone)

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first piece in this fandom. It makes me a little nervous honestly, there are just so many brilliant authors in this fandom (and mpreg isn't huge in this fandom). Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

It’s been twelve days. Twelve days without as much as a whisper.

 

Bond has done this before. Everyone in MI6 has at some point been witness to one of his seemingly impossible resurrections, but by now, people have started worrying. Q can feel their eyes on him as he walks through Q branch, _waddles_ more like. At 36 weeks pregnant he’s no more graceful than before the pregnancy and he still has more days to go. Despite the fact that two other agents are currently in the field, Q branch is quiet. It’s usually a noisy affair, especially when Q isn’t acting as handler, but it’s quiet now. Eerily so.

 

“Tea in your office, sir.” R tells him when he walks past her workstation.

  
“Chamomile?”

 

“Of course, sir.”

 

“Thank you, R.”

 

She smiles gently. “No problem.”

 

Q’s office has in many ways been a refuge to him, but it doesn’t feel like one now. Bond’s shirt, where it had been draped over the back of his office chair, no longer smells of him. Four days after Q last heard from Bond he’d given up on all pretenses and brought one of his shirts, hoping that it would help him focus better. Alas, here he is for the twelfth day in a row, 36 weeks pregnant. The speakers have stayed quiet since they lost touch. Q has refused to act as handler to anyone since. The red dot that shows Bond’s last location is blinking on the screen in front of him, stuck on the same spot as last night, the same as the day before, and the day before that. With a sigh, Q sinks into his chair and buries his head in his hands.

 

∞

 

A crackle makes Q frown in his sleep and twists in his office chair, trying to alleviate the pain in his back. Another crackle comes through the speakers and Q shoots up in his chair with a gasp

 

“Bond?”

 

A heavy breath this time.

 

“Bond!”

 

As quickly as he manages, Q rises from the chair and waddles over to his computer.

 

“Bond?”

 

“Q?”

 

Q is helpless to do anything but to dumbly repeat Bond’s name one more time. He should be locating the agent and ordering a retrieval team, but he’s frozen to the spot, unable to even move. Tears sting his eyes and sniffles, wiping uselessly at his eyes.

 

“You have no idea how nice it is to hear your voice.” Bond murmurs.

 

“It’s been two weeks.” Q answers, his voice shaky and weak. Blasted hormones. “I was…fuck.”

 

“Are you okay? How’s the baby?”

 

Q can hear the worry in his voice and wipes at his eyes again, concentrating on making his voice steady. “Oh, I’m fine. The baby too. There’s no need to worry about us.”

 

“You don’t sound fine.”

 

“It’s just hormones. I’m fine, I swear.”

 

“Alright.” Bond says, clearly not believing it but letting it go. He’s tired, Q can tell. His breathing is labored and he’s struggling to move forward, wherever he might be right now.

 

“They removed my tracker.”

 

“I know.” Q answers, a bit of annoyance slipping into his tone. “Are you badly hurt?”

 

“I’m good.”

 

“Bond.” Q says, unimpressed. Bond will try and have him believe that he’s been missing for near to weeks and have no injuries, really?

 

“A gunshot wound to my shoulder, my right knee is shot to hell and a couple of my fingers are broken, same for the ribs I suspect. Other than that, I’m quite alright.”

 

“And your location?”

 

Bond snorts. “Last I knew I was in Jakarta. As far as I know I haven’t boarded a plane in the last few days, but I’ve also been drugged to the gills.”

 

A gunshot rings out and echoes through the speakers.

 

“Bond?”

 

“I’m fine.” Bond grunts.

 

A round of gunshots ring out and Q breathes in and out carefully, listening for any sign of Bond getting hurt.

 

“ _Fuck_.”

 

Q stays quiet, listening. He hears the screech of tires and the clash of metal on metal, and then things go silent. Next, he hears the revving of an engine and the gunshots growing more distant.

 

“Will you be able to track me if I get to a city?”

 

“Of course I will.” Q says, his heart still beating a bit to quick for comfort. “What kind of vehicle are you driving?”

 

“Green jeep. When I get to somewhere safe, I’ll check the plates.”

 

Q lets out a relived breath and drops into his chair. To distract himself from his worry, he hacks into Jakarta’s airport and gets Bond on the quickest route home. He’ll arrive in London in eighteen hours at the earliest. Occasionally, Q feels bad about bumping people out of their flights, but right now he couldn’t give damn.

 

“What time is it in London now?”

 

Q checks the clock on the screen. “5 a.m.”

 

“Q.” Bond says, half pleading, half chastising.

 

“Well, at least I’m not somewhere getting shot at. I’m not keeping regular hours anyway. I slept all day yesterday, I’m fine.”

 

He hears Bond sigh and then the ticking of the turn signal. “I certainly hope so. The second I board a plane home to London I want you to go home.”

 

“I will.” Q promises.

 

“I’ve missed the sound of your voice, Q.”

 

“Just get home, James.” Q says, making his best effort not to let his voice waver.

 

“I’ll be home soon, love.”

 

While Bond drives, Q alerts Tanner, who comes rushing into his office not even twenty minutes after. He’s breathless, clearly having hurried over.

 

“Bond?”

 

“Tanner.” Bond returns.

 

The tension that has been weighing down Tanner for the last few days leaves him in a rush. “Status report.”

 

“Minor injuries, I’m not sure of my location yet as my tracker was removed, but I can see city lights. ETA in five minutes if the traffic is light.”

 

“By minor injuries he means a gunshot wound to his shoulder, though the rest of the injuries are superficial.” Q supplies. “Two months or possibly three months of recuperation at most.”

 

“I’ll need a new suit.” Bond says.

 

Q is already arranging it before he answers. “I’ll have somebody drop it off at the airport.”

 

“Thank you, Q. I’m afraid none of your gadgets made it this time.”

 

Q rolls his eyes. “When do they ever? It’s all right, I suppose I’ll just have to settle for you.”

 

“I suppose you will have to.”

 

Q had honestly forgotten that Tanner was behind him until he hears the man release a sigh. “You should go home, Q.”

 

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”

 

“When was the last time he ate?” Bond asks, directing the question at Tanner.

 

“About three hours ago.” Q answers before Tanner has had the chance to even utter a syllable. “Two slices of toast, _with_ cheese even. I also had one of Colin’s god-awful smoothies.”

 

Bond hums.

 

“Pleased, are you?”

 

“Yes.” Bond replies honestly. Alphas and their stupid instincts. It’s been so long now since Bond has nagged him about having a meal that Q had almost started to miss it. _Almost_ , being the key word. If there’s anything he’s missing right now it’s Bond himself. The apartment is lonely without him and it doesn’t smell right when he’s not there. It’s embarrassing, but he wishes he’d changed out Bond’s shirt out for a fresh one, if only to have his scent close. His own scent must relay his distress, because Tanner is currently shooting him a worried look.

 

“Q?”

 

“I’m fine.” It’s all very…fine, Q supposes.

 

Tanner doesn’t comment, but he lays his hand on Q’s shoulder and gives it a quick squeeze. It’s not nearly as comforting coming from a beta, but it’s _something_. Tanner stays with him until Bond has boarded his flight two hours later, a steady, but somewhat annoying presence by Q’s side.

 

“I think it’s best if you head home, Q.”

 

“I’ve already ordered a taxi.” Q says. He’d usually brush off unwanted pieces of advice, but right now his bed is all he can think of. Preferably with Bond in it, but he’ll have to settle for a sweaty shirt until tomorrow. He packs up and pulls on his coat, and gets all the way upstairs before an odd feeling starts radiating from his pelvis. Standing in the lobby of MI6, frozen to the spot, he feels wetness running down his trouser leg.

 

_Fuck._

 

∞

 

A nurse wipes at his brow and Q groans again, trying to breathe through it like the nurse has asked him to. It’s been ages since they checked on him the last time, but there hadn’t been any progress, so all there is left to do is wait. He’s been told it’s not time to push yet, but it’s so hard not to. He wishes James was here.

 

“Breathe.” Jennifer instructs again, as if Q doesn’t know he should fucking breathe. She’s clearly been on the receiving end of the look he is sending her before, because all she does is tell him to breathe again. When the doctor pops back in, which might be minutes or hours later, Q wouldn’t be able to even guess, it’s almost time.

 

“Just a few more minutes.” He says, already preparing himself with a fresh pair of gloves

 

The next contraction tears through Q and he screams, tears leaking form the corners of his eyes.

 

“You’re doing well.” Jennifer tells him. “Just a minute longer now.”

 

Q swears and breathes in deeply. Eve had dropped by earlier and she’d brought one of James’ shirts, the most recently used one she could find. Q hadn’t even been ashamed when he’d asked her to go through their laundry. In fact, he couldn’t give less of a shit. She’d hesitated when he’d asked her go back out into the hallway, but if he’s not going to through this with James he’d rather be alone.

 

“There we go. Are you ready to push?”

  
It’s the dumbest question he’s ever heard, Q thinks and pushes.

 

∞

 

He’s too small, is Q’s first thought. Absolutely tiny.

 

Q’s hands shake as they hand the baby to him, laying him on his bare chest. He’s crying, which Q knows is a good sign, despite the fact that it hurts to listen to. He doesn’t even notice when the doctor starts sewing him up or when he finishes, can’t even feel a thing. All he can focus on is the tiny, breathing, living creature that’s currently lying on his chest.

 

“He’s perfectly alright.” The doctor tells him. “He’s a bit small, but that is to be expected at this point. Other than that, he’s a perfectly healthy baby boy.”

 

Q nods, barely registering his words. He didn’t think he’d be cut out for this life, all through his adolescence he hadn’t even thought he would have the chance to have this. It’s only been a few minutes, yet Q doesn’t think he could live without it. Without this tiny, sweet, little being.

 

“He might not latch on.” Jennifer tells him, but she shows him how to attempt nursing regardless. It takes a few tries and Q gets scared that the baby won’t latch on at all, but then he does. It’s harder for omega males, having a lot less breast tissue, even if it grows throughout the pregnancy. Q had been especially small, but luckily, it doesn’t seem to be much of a problem.

 

“Oh, there we go.” She murmurs softly. “He’s a hungry one, isn’t he? That’s a good sign.”

 

Q laughs a little, growing accustomed to the weird sensation. He can’t even look away. At one point the baby unlatches and Q panics as he starts mewling. Jennifer instructs him to switch the baby to his other nipple and the baby latches on again, his eyelids slowly slipping shut. Q has never seen a baby with such long lashes, it’s almost ridiculous. They’re as dark as the hair on top of his tiny head and Q is secretly very pleased about it. He’s sure the baby will inherit some of James’ traits as well, but right now he mostly just looks like a baby. Overwhelmed with it all, Q starts tearing up. He’s almost tempted to apologize, but Jennifer doesn’t look at him like it’s out of place. After a few long minutes, the baby unlatches and immediately falls asleep.

 

“They do that.” Jennifer tells him. “He’s just tired. Coming into the world is a exhausting experience.” She pulls James shirt from under Q’s head and hands it to Q, who swaddles it around the baby.

 

“Any word on your alpha?”

 

“He’s coming.” Q tells her. A fresh wave of tears comes over him and he sniffles a little, trying to be quiet about so not to wake the baby. _Their_ baby. Q has been preparing for this moment for some very long months, but he’s still overcome with emotion, unable to get used to the idea of it.

 

“I’ll leave you to it.” Jennifer says. “Call if you need anything, I’ll be right outside, okay?”

 

“Yes.” Q nods. “Thank you, Jennifer.”

 

“No problem.”

 

Q has no idea how long has passed when a commotion starts outside in the hall. He hears heavy steps and raised voices, and curls the baby tighter in his arms. The little boy mewls a little, not appreciating having his sleep disturbed.

 

“For god’s sake.” Someone growls and Q recognizes Eve’s voice. “Calm down, you idiot.”

 

“Let me through.” Another voice says and Q would recognize that growl anywhere.

 

James bursts through the door and Q starts tearing up again the second his eyes land on him. James looks like shit, Q has no idea how he managed to convince any airline on taking him aboard, but here he is. With dirt on his brow and his fingers bound with thick bandages, not that James seems to care. All he has eyes for is Q and the little bundle on his chest.

 

“Q.” James says and it says everything, that one little utterance of his name. James approaches slowly, as quietly as he can manage. He settles next to Q on the bed and though they’ve had five long years together and have known each other for far longer, Q has never seen that look on James’ face before. It’s pure awe.

 

He presses a kiss to Q’s forehead, eyes on the baby and makes a ridiculous punched out sound. It might be laughter, but it’s sounds a lot like he’s just been shot. Q is very familiar with the sound by now.

 

“He’s so small.”

 

“Absolutely tiny.” Q agrees.

 

James leans his forehead against Q’s, breathing in his scent. They’ve always done this after James has returned from a mission, but it’s different this time. Another person to include in the little ritual. Gently, as not to wake him, Q passes the baby into James’ awaiting hands. The baby wakes anyway, but doesn’t make a single sound. James stares down at the baby, at a loss for words it seems.

 

“He’s beautiful isn’t he.” Q whispers.

 

“He is.” Bond agrees. “He looks like you.”

 

“He looks like a baby.”

 

James smiles at him, his eyes shiny. “No, he looks like you.”

 

He gazes down at the baby again and Q lets him have his moment in peace, deciding to doze a little while. He’s earned it. When he wakes again, James has moved to the chair by Q’s bedside and is cradling the baby. As Q comes to, he realizes what woke him. The baby has started mewling, which quickly grows into distressed whimpers.

 

“Give him here.” Q says, grabbing his glasses from the bedside table. James must have taken them off him while he was asleep.

 

James hands the baby over and Q places him at his chest, watching as he latches on after a couple of tries. James watches too and gets up to sit at the side of the bed, curling over the two of them. Q hisses and adjusts the baby a little.

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

Q hesitates. “Not exactly. It just…feels really odd. It’s a bit uncomfortable.”

 

“And the rest of you?”

 

“Just about everything aches, but that’s par for the course apparently. I’ll heal.”

 

“Good.” James whispers. He rests his chin on top of Q’s head and breathes in deeply.

 

“How about you?”

 

“Perfect.”

 

Q snorts. “You look like shit.”

 

“I’ve never felt better in my life.” James murmurs.

 

Q can feel him smiling and smiles too, looking down at the baby in his arms.

 

“We should name him.”

 

A deep breath rustles his hair. “Quintilian?”

 

“That wasn’t funny the first time.” Q mutters.

 

James goes silent for a few moments, looking down at the baby. “How about Kieran?”

 

Q takes a moment to consider. Does the baby look like a Kieran? That’s how his parents named him, but Q just thinks he looks like a baby. A beautiful baby, but a baby nonetheless.

 

“It’s very Irish. I like it.” He decides.

 

“Me too.”

 

It’s settled then, the baby’s name is Kieran. And it does fit the baby, Q thinks, as he gazes down at his little face. One of James’ hands come up to stroke his soft cheek and the baby isn’t capable of smiling yet, but if he could, Q bets everything in the world that he would.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, English is not my first language, so if you spot any errors or if I've misused any words, let me know!


End file.
